Alien​

The girl is an alien.

He knew he was going to see one today. He knew it.

He woke that morning feeling it in his teeth. He woke that morning with his teeth hurting and the taste of blood in his mouth. He knew that he was going to see an alien today because of how his teeth hurt and the taste of blood in his mouth.

That is how they first hurt him.

They pulled his teeth and replaced them. It took him weeks to pull them back out again.

That is how he always knew.

The girl is an alien.

He walks into the bar and hides in the corner. He puts up a wall of books, ketchup bottles, menus and sugar jars between him and the room. It had pulled him here. It had pulled him here. It had pulled him here but he wasn’t yet ready to fight.

He looks once, once, over the top of his wall and he sees her.

And he knows it.

He knows it at first sight.

He had woken up this morning with the feeling in his teeth. He woke up that morning with the taste of his blood, his own tainted and infected blood in his mouth. He woke this morning with the black shadows closing in over his eyes cutting down his field of vision. He woke that morning from bad dreams of the slaughterhouse and the table, of the cutting and the feast, knowing that one of them was near. He knew there were things he was supposed to do when they came near. He knew he was supposed to breathe deeply. He knew he was supposed to walk to the bathroom and throw some ice cold water in his face. He knew that there were some medications that should be taken. He knew that there were some simple rituals that would solidify the feeling of his feet upon the ground. There were things that kept THEM at bay. That’s what the doctors say. There are things that kept him safe. He knew the truth though. He knew that his taps would spit out only blood today and he knew the air he was breathing was poisoned and he damn well knew what he’d see if he looked in the mirror.

Oh no.

He was not listening to them today.

Doctors use tables too.

Doctors know of the cutting.

Doctors know of the feast.

He woke with a scream and raged around his flat. He kicked at the doors, he kicked at the walls and he searched long and hard for any single crack in the defences. He made damn sure his place was safe. One of them was near. This room is clean and yet all the alarms are ringing so, it had to be that one of them is near.

One of them was near and hunting.

He could smell it.

So he showered with his eyes open and a blade in his hand.

He dressed in leather over a thin wire mesh that dispersed their energy weapons throughout his entire body thus saving him from the incapacity that a direct hit inflicts and he threw some weapons into a bag.

If they felt they could hunt so freely then so be it.

We were here first.

This is our planet.

He could bloody well hunt them back.

After all, he owed them.

For the teeth.

For the slaughterhouse and the table.

For the cutting and the feast.

For the tainted feel and taste and burn of the blood his veins.

He owed them.

The girl is an alien.

He is sitting in the darkest corner of the bar, away from the open bay windows and the sunny loud street. He sits with his bag by his side and his sunglasses watching everything that passes those windows. This is his Hide. He is readying his weapons as he watches his prey. He spins a ketchup bottle, endlessly, compulsively, on its head. The girl is an alien and she will be taken. She will be taken tonight. There is no question in his mind. He had told them. He had warned them. Every single night in his dreams he screamed with everything left inside of him that if he EVER felt them, if they ever broke the truce, EVER came back he would fight.

So they are aware of his intent.

He watches the girl.

He watches the window.

They are testing him.

They are testing his word. They are testing his fortitude. Like the table and the slaughter. They are testing to see when he screams stop.

He watches the window for others. He watches the window for large shadows.

This is a favored hunting ground.

This was where they trapped him you see.

This is where they captured him, that first time.

The girl is an alien.

It doesn't matter that she looks so normal. It really doesn’t. They have been here forever. They have mastered the art of disguise. He has seen her change form many times. Sometimes she’s the little blonde thing that kisses every guy customer on the cheek with a giggle. Sometimes she is the big breasted red head who works week nights and has the tired eyes of a single mom. Sometimes she alters her scent to trick you into thinking that she is willing and wants you. They’ve been here studying us a long time. They have been here a long time working us. They can trick you into dropping your shields. They will do anything to get you on that table.

They’ve been here a long, long time.

The slaughterhouse, the table. The cutting, the feast.

He’s locked on. One of his hands is in the bag. The other rests on his thigh. His cock twitches. They didn’t understand that, they always made a big deal about that when they talk about shifting his medications. It is a human reaction. It is a very human reaction to an inhuman situation. This more than anything tells him he is right. His cock twitches. That is the one thing they haven’t been able to take from him.

He knows he is right.

He can smell it.

His finger runs over the knife as he watches her. He runs a finger along the baton. The pad of his thumb sticks to the side of the roll of duct tape. He sits there staring and feeling his human reactions telling him over and over again (twitchtwitchytwitchtwitch) what she is and how right this is.

He keeps an eye on the window, watching for any large shadows, any large sign that they are setting a trap.

He truly believes (twitchtwitchtwitch) that he is safe, that this is meant to be.

He won't let them do it again.

He won't let them take him again.

She is leaning over the bar, talking to some stupid piece of meat with impossible blonde hair and broad shoulders. He is a future slaughter. He already smells of death, he just doesn’t know it yet. He sits there watching as she alters her scent for him. He sits there as she alters her look for him. The dumb fuck doesn’t even see it happening. She is changing in front of him, transforming for the sole purpose of luring him to the tableand he doesn’t even see. No wonder they hunt here. She is going to take him. That focus is probably the reason she hasn’t yet sensed a hunter in the bar. So be it. He was not, ever, above the sacrifice of stupid meat into the role of bait. He is tall and blonde and fairly big. He looks exactly like their type (twitch). He's going to be strapped down to that table (twitchtwitch). They are going to experiment on him. They are going to taint his blood. They are going to put a time line on the end of his life.

He will shrink into himself.

He will get the lesions.

He will get sick a lot, and often. The aliens take, and use, and learn but they totally decimate the immune system in the process.

That guy at the bar... he's going to get strapped down and used and he is going to die for that.

He is going to kill that fucking alien that looks like a girl.

Oh, he is going to slaughter her for what they’ve done to him.

He is going to slaughter her for what they keep doing to him day after day after day.

He is going to take a scream for every lost night of sleep.

“That guy,” Casey says to me as I sit there, sipping my beer and watching him watching her in the big bar mirror behind her back. (Okay, well, mostly trying to watch him. She was standing on a beer case and bent over whispering in my ear while wearing a short skirt so I can’t say I wasn’t noticing the hot pink panties at the same time) “He’s been a serious creeper for a few weeks now. I think he's stalking me. Can you walk me home tonight? I really think he wants to rape me or something.”

I smile. Little Casey sees the world the way one watches television.

She sees everything as it is presented to you by the advertiser, the writer and the voices.

I watch him twitch and I watch the rapid movements and I feel the pull of the madness in him. More than that, the awkward way he moves belies a thin wire mesh of armour under the leathers.

This one thinks he knows something of us.

But he can’t see the forest for the trees.

​“Oh, yea Casey he wants you...” I reply. “But I really think you should be hoping you die LONG before anything like rape gets into his head…”